


Falling Apart

by Wolfsbride



Series: Five F*cking Times by tayryn [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's tough being in charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts), [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts), [LadyDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDuchess/gifts), [mysticmelodies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmelodies/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five F*cking Times](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995822) by [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/pseuds/tayryn). 



It is several days before Olivia can fulfil her promise to James. It’s not due to any lack of desire on her part; merely an inability to clear her schedule to her satisfaction. She is aware that she and James are breaking all sorts of rules by formally starting a relationship. If they are caught, she will, no doubt, be sent packing. There are people that have been trying to remove her from the day she started the job. 

James, they would probably allow to stay. He _is_ her best agent after all. However, the conditions under which he would have to work would become intolerable. A microchip in the arm would be the least of his worries.

She’d sent the email letting him know the day and time from the encrypted program on her personal laptop. When the day arrives, she allows her driver to take her home as usual and makes a point of speaking to the guards that watch her building, projecting an aura of weariness. She is a woman who is going to bed early. 

Riding the lift up to their flat, she lets herself in. Reginald is not home, but in any case she’d told him she would not be back until after he’d gone to bed. Important work matters. He didn’t even question her. 

In her bedroom, she slips out of her power suit and dons a ratty pair of jeans and a tee shirt. She shoves her feet into a pair of battered sneakers. Reaching into the back of her closet, she withdraws a weathered black leather jacket. Shrugging it on, she completes her transformation by concealing her trademark white hair under a baseball cap. 

She transfers her flat keys and her derringer from her fancy purse to one pocket of her leather jacket; putting the gun in the special compartment she had sewn there herself. She shoves a small wallet into the other pocket. When she strides out of her building fifteen minutes later, her guards give her a bored glance, her attire having the intended effect, and then ignore her as she walks down the street.

Olivia walks a couple of blocks before she pauses to hail a cab. She gives an address that is close to Bond’s flat and chats with the driver about his job, his children, and the state of the roads. When he drops her off, she tips him, but not so little or so much as to be memorable. As she walks the rest of the way, anticipation makes her stomach flutter. She’s about to have a non-work related evening with James.

When she reaches Bond’s flat, she breathes deeply before knocking on his door. The door opens and Bond stands there looking down at her. 

“Yes?”

There is no recognition. Olivia tips her hat back and smirks up at him. “Hullo, James.” She will treasure the look on his face for as long as she lives. 

Bond splutters and drags her inside, closing and locking the door behind them. He looks her up and down, face still slack with shock. “But… You…”

Olivia takes pity on him and removes her cap, running her fingers through her hair as she does so, fluffing it up. She grins at him. “Better?”

Bond manages to close his mouth and then shakes his head. He smiles dryly. “Impressive. I would have loved to have seen you as an agent.”

Taking Olivia’s hat and jacket, Bond hangs them in his hall closet. Then he crowds her back against the door and leans down, kissing her hard. Olivia clutches at his shoulders and kisses him back. When they draw apart, a few minutes later, they’re both breathing heavily. 

Bond moves his hands from the back of Olivia’s neck and cups her face. His thumbs brush her cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”

Olivia’s lips twitch. “The rate at which I’m going through disposable phones says otherwise.” She got herself a burner phone so that James could contact her without having to ring her private mobile. It hadn’t lasted very long, though, with how much James called her. She supposes she could have purchased a separate personal mobile but she feels safer this way.

Bond pretends to glare. “Well if _someone_ would sign off on my psyche exam, I’d be tested and cleared for duty and I could be at HQ with you instead of stuck at home.”

The thought of sending James off on another mission makes Olivia feel melancholy. She doesn’t doubt that when the time comes, she’ll be able to do it. It’s just that everything between them is so new right now. She wants to use this enforced break to explore without having to worry about prying eyes.

“You know it’ll be more difficult when we’re both at work, James.” She hugs him tightly, and then lays her head on his chest. 

Bond returns the embrace and makes a noise of agreement. After a minute, he draws back, taking her hand. “Come on. Don’t want dinner to get cold.”

Olivia follows him through his living room to the small eating area next to the kitchen. As she approaches, a wonderful aroma surrounds her. She can smell onion and garlic; the sharp tang of mustard, ginger, cloves. It should be a cacophony, individual scents clashing against each other but the smell is divine. 

Whatever it is that James has made, if it tastes as good as it smells, she’s in for a treat. There is a table and a couple of chairs against the wall. Olivia’s stomach rumbles, reminding her she’d worked through lunch, but her eyes grow wide. 

The table is covered with so many dishes she can’t see the top. She’s amazed it hasn’t collapsed under the weight. “James, were you expecting an army?”

Bond flushes. Lifting his right hand, he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh. Yeah. I might have panicked a little bit when I got your message.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Olivia wraps an arm around his waist and gives him a squeeze. “You don’t have to impress me, you know.” She’s aware that she is echoing Reginald’s words but it feels different to say them to James.

Bond leans into her for a second before he shrugs. “Feels like I should at least try.”

Olivia approaches the table as though she expects it to break if she breathes too heavily. “Let’s keep the beef stew and the baguettes. The rest of it we can pack up and put away. You’ll have left overs… and overs and _overs_.” 

She shoots him an impish grin and Bond rolls his eyes at her teasing.

The two of them work together quietly as they move the extra food from the table to the kitchen and into containers to be stored in Bond’s refrigerator. It is a small task, but Olivia notices that they manoeuver around each other as though they’ve been doing it for years. 

“Did you make all this?” Olivia seals the container of pasta and hands it over. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the tips of James’ ears go red. 

“Uh. Most of it. Bought the baguettes and the dessert.” Bond chuckles sheepishly as he settles the container into his refrigerator. “It’s just as well you didn’t give me more time; would have probably made the bread from scratch.”

Olivia stops in the middle of sliding prawns off a plate into another plastic bowl. Turning to Bond she leans against the kitchen counter. “Do tell.” 

When he closes the door and turns back to her, Olivia arches her brow. She doesn’t doubt that he can; he wouldn’t have said so if he couldn’t. She’s just curious as to how it came about. The only time Reginald stepped foot into the kitchen was when he was alone. Otherwise, he expected her to serve him. 

Leaning back against the door, Bond crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “My aunt was a great believer in doing for yourself. And she liked to keep me busy since I didn’t have much use for school. Apparently, I get into trouble when I’m bored.”

“How absolutely shocking.” 

Smirking, Olivia turns back to the partially filled container. She puts on the lid and passes it over to Bond without looking. “That’s the last of it. If you reheat the stew, I’ll rinse the extra dishes and stack the dishwasher.” She waves off Bond’s protests. “I don’t mind.” And she truly doesn’t. The difference being that James doesn’t expect her to wait on him. 

Bond is serving up the stew just as Olivia finishes with the dishwasher. She helps him carry everything out of the kitchen and after arranging things on the table, Bond helps her into her chair and then ducks back into the kitchen. He returns with a bottle of wine. 

Taking on the role of waiter, Bond shows Olivia the bottle and she accepts his offer of a very lovely Pinot Noir with a nod. He pours them both a glass and then sits across from her. The first few minutes are taken up by breaking pieces off the baguettes to dip in the stew.

Olivia samples the stew and hums in pleasure as flavour bursts over her tongue. The beef is juicy and tender. She chews and swallows. “Commendations to your aunt, she trained you well.” 

Smiling, Bond ducks his head a little. “You would have liked her.”

“She managed to teach you to cook, so I don’t doubt it.” Olivia grins to negate the bite of her words. To her absolute delight, James blushes. 

They continue to eat, making small talk as they do so. Olivia tells him there seems to be a lull in world affairs so he’s not missing anything by not being at HQ. Bond retorts by reminding her she’s the one thing he’s missing and then tries to back pedal as though he thinks she’ll be offended. Flustered, he tries to cover it by pouring her more wine.

Olivia’s rather charmed by this version of Bond, all nerves and lacking in savoir faire. But she decides to put him out of his misery. Reaching across the table, she lets her fingertips caress his; halting their nervous tapping. Then she covers his hand with her own. “James.” 

When he looks her in the eyes, she smiles a little. “Relax. Just treat me like one of your regular girls.”

Bond looks so appalled, Olivia wonders what’s wrong.

Turning his hand beneath Olivia’s, Bond laces his fingers through hers and gives them a brief squeeze. “Olivia.” He shakes his head. “Olivia, you’re _nothing_ like those other women. I can’t believe you would even think so.” 

Now Olivia is the one blushing, as Bond’s words, his tone, the way he is looking at her, makes pleasure bloom within. It’s so nice to be appreciated for a change. She stands, letting the chair slide back as she rises, and moves around the table without letting go of Bond’s hand.

Bond looks up at her as she leans down, their hands still joined between them. “I’m sorry. That was a foolish thing to say. I should’ve known better.” She kisses his cheek.

“Shifting his chair, Bond pulls her into his lap. 

“Yes, you should have,” he kisses her gently.

They continue to trade kisses, quickly forgetting the rapidly cooling stew as their bodies grow ever warmer. 

A small shiver runs down Olivia's spine. She had been looking forward to tasting the desert, but this, she decides, is far more decadent.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Bond is at the range in the wee hours of the morning preparing himself to aid in MI6's latest crisis. He and Eve are being shipped off to Turkey to assist on a mission. Apparently, it wasn't as clear cut an operation as they'd anticipated. He continues to shoot at the paper target, arm relaxed and hands steady.

He’s reminded of his first mission after he and Olivia got involved. When both M and the psychologists had cleared him to return to duty after Quantum, he’d been glad to be back in the game but his feelings had been mixed. It wasn’t so much the new mission itself, rather the simple fact that he and Olivia had grown so incredibly close in such a short time. 

Leaving her had been difficult. He thought it strange how he had never given much thought to his assignments before. None of them ever felt grave or ominous. He merely packed up, and shipped off to wherever he was assigned. But now... now he had a reason to come home.

As time went on, the leaving got easier. Not as easy as before, but a little more bearable. It's still an odd feeling to have to leave her behind; knowing that every time away could be his last. However, they both had duties to perform. As much as it would have been nice to continue on in that little bubble of happiness they’d created for each other, they both knew what needed to be done. Things would never be the same, and while he doesn't think he'll ever quite get used to leaving, he's learned to deal with it.

Laying down his Walther, Bond removes his ear muffs, and then retracts the shooting target. The shots are all to the head and chest. It’s technically a clean round. However, real life targets very rarely hold still and Bond hopes his usual luck continues to hold now that he’s got someone he wants to come back to.

The scent of Olivia’s perfume and the rhythmic clicking of her heels alert Bond to her approach. He turns to greet her, confining himself to a brief nod, rather than the embrace that has become the norm whenever they’re alone together. The fact that they are always at loggerheads gives them a little leeway. Sometimes when Olivia is telling him off, he can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s not truly angry with him. It amuses him. He wonders if they’re the only couple to say I care about you by shouting. 

They both try to be careful; try not to let the affection show in their voices, in the way they touch. The hardest part is not looking at each other for too long. They never know when the wrong person might be watching. As Olivia comes to stand next to him, Bond reminds himself not to move closer. 

Olivia scans the target paper. “Excellent job, Bond.”

“Fancy a turn?” He’s read her file. He knows what she was capable of. He’s always wished he could have seen her in action. 

Giving Bond a look, Olivia replaces Bond’s target with a fresh one and sends it moving away from them. Putting on another set of ear muffs, she takes up his Walther. The way she casually checks it and then slides the clip home makes his cock twitch. She waits until he’s donned his own ear muffs before taking aim.

When she’s finished, Bond brings the target back. The bullet holes are clustered in the head and chest area. They’re not as tightly packed as his own, but it’d get the job done. 

Olivia hands him back his gun and takes off her ear muffs, running her fingers through her hair to settle it. “Not bad for an old pair of eyes, hm?”

Bond has to force himself not to kiss her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_“Agent down.”_

Eve’s words cast a cold pall over Olivia. She’s heard that phrase numerous times in her career; she’s uttered it numerous times too. Never before has it affected her like this. 

Turning quickly to stare out the window, Olivia shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket to hide their shaking. She cannot let them see. Tanner is the only one who would understand. The brief look they share tells her this, and while she could use the comfort, she doesn't want to risk him getting caught in the inevitable maelstrom that would occur if her affair with Bond is discovered. She respects him too much to jeopardize his career over a moment of emotional strain.

There are things she needs to do; procedures that need to be followed, but for the moment all she can think of is the crack of the gunshot and Eve saying _agent down_. It loops around and around incessantly.

Inside her jacket pockets, Olivia squeezes her hands into fists and then squares her shoulders. 'That which does not kill me makes me stronger.' She takes a deep breath. After this, she should be bloody well invincible.

Olivia turns around and the room breathes again. She barks out orders and everyone scrambles to obey. She goes through the motions; listening to Tanner with one ear as he breaks down the situation now that Bond and Eve have failed to retrieve the hard drive. Plans have to be made; people shifted. It’s an emergency like any other only now she’s missing her good right hand. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Olivia sits at her desk staring at her computer screen. James stares back at her from the image viewer. His mouth is stern but his eyes are warm. It seems impossible that she will never see his face again.

She feels as though she’s been fixed in this spot for days but it’s only been a few hours. She’s trying to write Bond’s obituary and the _missing, believed killed,_ is destroying her. At least if there’d been a body, she would have no reason to hope.

It’s been six weeks and there’s been no trace. Officially, Bond is dead. Unofficially… Olivia firms her lips and resumes typing. She’s typed up dozens of obits in her time. But like the dreaded agent down, this time it’s too hard to bear.

She blinks rapidly as her eyes burn, blurring the screen. She types and erases over and over. The things she _wants_ to say are the very things she _cannot_ say. Finally, she manages to compose something suitable. 

The obituary talks about Bond’s dedication and accomplishments; about his experience and courage. It doesn’t mention that James snores when he sleeps deeply or that he has dimples when he smiles widely. It captures so little of the man that James is… _was_ …that Olivia wants to fling the whole computer out of the window behind her. 

Instead, she saves the file and then prints out hard copies to go to the appropriate departments. Closing down her computer, she gathers her things. Glancing at her watch, she hopes that Reginald will not be waiting up for her. She’s been avoiding him with intermittent success. Listening to him prattle on makes her contemplate murder. Whether it’s his or hers, she’s not sure. Making sure everything is in order; Olivia turns out the lights as she leaves.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Olivia arrives home, she hangs up her coat and slips off her shoes. She stands in the foyer, thoughts a buzz. Things she should have done; shouldn’t have done. The past several weeks have been hellish. 

There has been no time to grieve. There are eyes everywhere. Gareth Mallory is breathing down her neck due to the lost hard drive. Eve Moneypenny keeps apologizing and looking like a kicked puppy whenever Olivia glances her way. Even at home there is no respite. 

Sometimes at night she finds herself screaming into her pillow, but she cannot cry. Crying would lead to questions from Reginald. Even he is not so obtuse as to miss swollen eyes and a nose to rival Rudolph’s.

She’s tired, both physically and mentally. A warm bath would probably do her a world of good if only she could find the energy. She decides to content herself with a glass of Scotch. 

Scotch instead of Bourbon. It’s rather pathetic that she’s switched to James’ drink just so she can feel close to him. MI6’s psychologists would have a field day. Just as well counselling is voluntary. She remembers chiding Bond about his tendency to drink after a hard mission. She’s beginning to see the appeal of drowning her sorrows.

Sighing heavily, Olivia makes herself move. When she comes through into the living room, she stops. To her dismay Reginald is ensconced in his chair. Before she can say anything, he gets to his feet and walks the short distance to the side table where the alcohol is kept. Pouring a drink, he brings it to her. 

Bourbon. Of course. It _is_ normally her drink of choice. Olivia takes the glass from Reginald, fighting the urge to throw the liquid in his face. He is here, healthy and whole and James is not. It is unforgivable.

“Thank you, Reginald, but there was no need to stay up.” Olivia sits on the edge of her chair. Now that they have encountered each other, Olivia supposes it would be rude not to speak to one another. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble, darling. In fact, there’s something I would like to discuss with you.”

Olivia swirls the bourbon. “Yes?”

“Well, I thought we might go away for a while. You’ve been working rather hard lately it seems, and well, I feel as though we don’t spend any time together.”

Blinking, Olivia bites her tongue and then tosses back her drink. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all the times for Reginald to turn into a doting husband. This is the last thing she needs. 

She’s seriously contemplating telling him to take a hike. It’s not like it matters now that James is gone. Nothing matters. 

Still, the part of her that is ever cautious, begs her to wait. A divorce would probably cause the higher ups to drop dead, which would be reason enough to go through with it, however, her life is a mad house right now. There’s no need to stir the pot.

Olivia rubs the bridge of her nose. She feels a hundred times her age. “I’m sorry, Reginald but as you say, work is quite hectic. I couldn’t possibly leave right now. Perhaps, in a few months?”

Reginald frowns. “Is that wise? It’s not like you’re getting any younger, dear and this job of yours seems quite stressful.”

Olivia does not throw the glass at Reginald. “Thank you for your concern, Reginald, but I’m not yet in my dotage.” 

She stands and heads to the kitchen. There she rinses her glass and puts it in the drainer to dry. When she turns to leave, Reginald is in the door way. She holds up a hand to halt any talking. “Reginald, please. I am beyond exhausted and I shall have to be up early yet again. We can talk about this at a later date.”

Pushing by him, Olivia heads to her bedroom. She strips out of her work clothes and drags on her pyjamas, her movements sluggish; her limbs heavy. Climbing into bed, she lies down and hopes for a dreamless sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As Bond trudges unsteadily along the beach to the bar, he barely spares a thought for the woman he’s left behind. She was a warm body to pass the time just like all the others. None of them help him forget the woman he really wants. Neither does the copious amount of alcohol he’s been consuming. 

Drinking and fucking, his modus operandi for dealing with shit, doesn’t seem to be working. He can still hear M snapping _leave him!_ in his ear. Ronson wasn’t a stellar agent but he was steady, dependable. He managed to learn from his mistakes. Five minutes away was as good as dead when someone was bleeding out. 

He’s always known every agent was dispensable, even himself. He honestly thought he’d made his peace with that. Hearing M say _take the bloody shot!_ in that cool precise tone of hers destroyed that illusion. He’s always known she would sacrifice everything for the sake of the mission. He just didn’t think she would do it when the odds were against him.

As he sits with his drink, watching the scorpion poised on his hand, its deadly stinger raised to strike if he makes one wrong move, he wonders if he’s not chasing the death M meted out for him. Night after night he comes to this bar and plays this game. Night after night he wins; or is it he loses? What is the point if she doesn’t want him anymore?

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s early morning and Bond is still at the bar. It’s nearly empty now; only he and the bartender remain. He waves some bills and then leans over the bar to retrieve a bottle and another glass. He’s pouring himself a drink when the news comes on. Terrorist attack in London snags his attention; assault on the British Secret Service makes his heart skip a beat. Turning around, he gets up and moves closer to the television. 

_Six dead._ _Six dead._ _Six dead._

He has to get back to London.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Well you’re bloody well not sleeping here.” 

Olivia enters the kitchen and flips on the light. She doesn’t even know why she’s here, only that she needed to put distance between herself and Bond. She hopes he takes the hint and leaves. Seeing him again after all this time has shaken her. 

She doesn’t hear him approach, just feels his hands coming to rest on her upper arms. He tries to pull her back against his chest and something inside her snaps. She jabs an elbow backwards, pushing him away and then she turns and slaps him. 

Bond staggers back.

Olivia moves forward, hand raised. She hits him again and again. “How dare you! How dare you come here like this! I thought you were dead you bastard! I thought you were dead and you were off pickling your god damn liver! And probably fucking your way through half the population no doubt!”

“Olivia.” Bond is remorseful. He doesn’t bother to dodge her blows. He deserves every one of them. He has done what so many others have tried and failed to do. He has reduced Olivia to tears. 

“Don’t you Olivia me! Do you have any idea what it was like? All around me your colleagues were talking about how horrible it was and how sad they were and I could only mourn as would be appropriate for any other agent!”

Her whacks grow weaker and finally she slumps against Bond’s chest. “You stupid stupid man!” She sobs.

Bond wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I am a stupid man.” Ducking his head, he presses a kiss to Olivia’s temple. 

Olivia shudders in his embrace. “Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again, 007.”

“No ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to:
> 
> -Tay for the inspiration  
> -Pers for the beta  
> -mysticmelodies for the feedback
> 
> Also, I borrowed the first two sentences of Tay's fic.


End file.
